


Fantasma

by Dracones95



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dubious Morality, F/M, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Self-Destruction, Short One Shot, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-22 07:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10692783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracones95/pseuds/Dracones95
Summary: He jumps from one obsession to another, losing a little piece of his mind each time.





	Fantasma

_"I'm out of it. I'm so out of it."_

His hazy mind whispers to him, a mantra that to him makes little sense; he's numb and unresponsive, lying on his back in a bed he's not sure if it's his or not. Little makes sense anymore.

To be honest, things didn't seem to make any sense before he got intoxicated with various Bacchus liquors either, but at least then he was aware of it. Now, all that matters is finding a way to stop his neurons from dancing kazachok inside his brain, and the furniture inside the room to stop spinning rapidly, dragging the ceiling along. He's on a boat in the middle of a nasty, moody, restless sea; a sea of fiery hair brushing against his face.

"Misty." He mumbles, nausea rushing up his throat and forcing him to stop moving; the angel on his shoulder. Her hand touches his forehead gingerly and he becomes aware of how it's burning up; he wants to shake her off, skin hurting on contact, but every little move throws him deeper down the drowsiness hole that he himself had dug. He smiles to himself, feeling his own heated cheeks with his fingers, wincing at how his arms throbbed and muscles twitched, tired. She is sitting on the edge of the bed; her bed probably; and says nothing. His stable point, his anchor; he raises a shaking hand and almost slaps it down her forearm, making her jump.

"Thank God you're here." His voice comes up cracked and slurred, scraping across his throat and she purses her lips and looks at him with sad eyes. Condescending eyes. Loving eyes; and everything in between. She feels ice cold against him, but her skin is soft and she lets him run his hand up and down her arm mindlessly. 

"I was here when Gary left." She had once told him, her voice trembling with unspoken sentiments; he was oblivious. He never saw anything coming. Gary drifted away under his own two eyes and he saw nothing.

Gary loved to tease him, to provoke him, but his intent was never malevolent; Gary kept him alive, kept him running, and he loved him like a puppy loves its master. He was obsessed; when it was over, he refused to believe it. "It's done. I'm done." He had said, without giving another explanation, ripping himself out of Ash's life, leaving him to fill the gaping hole with whatever he could. And from the bottom of those bottles he seeked refuge in he began to see things differently. 

"You didn't have to take me in." He whispers pulling himself upright with difficulty, groaning alongside the bed frame; Misty shakes her head in disapproval; he feels much better sitting, the spinning dance slowing down to a sensual tango. He smiles wide at her, half closed eyes staring into her azure pools. He leans against her and buries his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of floral perfume; a rare moment of peace in his life that he could only get when he was in her pale arms.

When he met Paul, it meant war. 

Paul is poison. Paul feeds his demons, awakens an evil he didn't know he had in him. The first time his fist connected with Paul's face after a heated argument, heavy insults thrown back and forth, he felt sickening satisfaction. He wanted to hurt him, his own bloodlust surprising him. Paul had then slammed him down to the ground and kicked him until he could barely breathe, leaving him for Brock to find and carry him to the hospital.

Brock was furious, spitting fire and ember from his eyes; he wanted to find whoever did this and chop him into little pieces, and it took Ash almost all day to convince him not to. He seeked the other young man, wanting his revenge. A rematch. His newfound bloodthirsty persona replaced him for a while, allowing pent-up anger to spill in waves. Paul dragged him down under with him gladly, drawn to his weakness like a shark smelling blood. It amused Paul, kept Ash busy and Gary off his mind; his desire to grow was smothered by the lust for destruction. They both had something to take out of their system, none ever confessing to the other; all the horrible things Paul had ever called him still rang through his head, and he began identifying with them. It made sense. 

Dull throbbing takes over the left side of his face, all of the sudden; it scares him and he brings his hand to his face as fast as he can. Misty watches him with a sad expression as he feels the tender skin around his eye, where purple bloomed, with shaky fingers.

"Don't." She says softly, taking his hand away from his face and bringing it to her own lips. "You'll make it worse." She kisses his knuckles and his stomach drops like filled with lead. Worse, she said. He looks progressively worse every time he crosses her threshold, because he has nowhere else to go. She doesn't get angry nor demands an explanation like Brock did. She doesn't freak out nor calls the ambulance and puts him through another round of interrogation like Dawn did.

She locks the door behind him when he stumbles through, hitting his shoulder on the wooden frame almost everytime, like a habit. She says nothing, asks nothing. She takes care of him like he is a child, laying him down on her bed and putting a glass of ice cold water to his lips. She steals a touch and a kiss then and there, without any protests, just a dumb smile. If that's the only way she can get him, then so be it.

"This is the last time." He whispers, in a stupor, intoxicated with her closeness, and, oh, how he lies!


End file.
